


Not His

by Moosebrawn



Series: Atlas [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mommy Issues, Protective Daryl, Sophia Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosebrawn/pseuds/Moosebrawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll find your mom," he says again, glaring into the girl's eyes with steely determination. Daryl may not have cared much for his own mother, but he knows Carol Peletier is a different breed than the woman who had raised him. He knows she loves her daughter -- that she'd do anything to keep her daughter safe. She deserves for someone to do the same for her. "I'll find her. I promise. I'm not gonna let you be an orphan."<br/>He doesn't know it at the time, but those words are gonna change his life.</p><p>(In which we discover what happens when Carol goes missing instead of Sophia, and the youngest Peletier is left with a basket full of Daryl's promises.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Mother, not his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl's musings on Carol and motherhood are plainly and thoroughly detailed.

He loves her. He knows it’s stupid and shallow and it’ll probably just add more fuel to the fire if Merle ever finds out, but he doesn’t care. He loves her. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to stop it. He looks at her and he sees everything he’d wanted his mother to be.

Daryl remembers being five years old, knowing that his mother was dead but not understanding what that truly meant. Dead meant flattened animals rotting in the street. Dead meant burying Spot in the backyard. Dead meant those flies on the windowsill didn’t move anymore. Dead meant covering his ears and the smell of gunpowder, Merle’s shoulder jerking backward, the muffled explosion that always seemed to go on long after the deer hit the ground.

But none of that happened when his mother died, and in Daryl’s mind, that had meant she wasn’t dead at all. He’d been sure that he’d be able to find her if he just walked out the door and searched around a little bit. He remembered plenty of times when he couldn’t find her, only to watch her walk in the front door a little later and declare that she’d just been at her sister’s house, or the market, the pharmacy. If he just went and looked for her, he would’ve found her.

That feeling never went away, but Daryl never did go looking for her. He waited for her to walk through the door, only a little worried that she wouldn’t be able to find the house they were staying at. When their own home was repaired, he’d expected her to be standing in the kitchen when he walked inside. But she hadn’t been, and by then, he’d realized she was gone. Not dead, but gone. Just gone.

As the years went on, he hardly thought about her. The truth was, his life wasn’t much different without her. She’d left him and Pa and Merle to take care themselves, just the same as they’d always done. So Daryl grew up without a mother and started to realize he would’ve done so whether or not his mother had burned herself up in the house. By the time he realized the woman was well and truly dead, he didn’t think it mattered so much anymore.

But now there's  _Carol_. There's something about this woman that makes him miss his mother, and that's just impossible. He’s never missed her before in his life, but looking at Carol and seeing her speak so sweetly to that daughter of hers sets his heart aching like nothing else.

And he realizes that he _wants_  that. Not his mother, but _Carol_. He loves her. He loves her so damned much just for the way she smiles at that little girl; just for the way she pulls the kid into her arms, hugging her like it's the best damn gift in the world. If his mother had been like that, he thinks, he would’ve missed her a whole lot more, just as surely as Sophia would miss her mother if something happened to her.

He’s tried not to think it, but it niggles at the back of his mind: He could’ve been like Sophia.

Daryl isn’t stupid. He knows Ed’s type and he sees the way Carol flinches away from him. The man is abusive, and he doesn’t need the scars tingling on his back to tell him that. Just looking at the man makes him think of his own father, those sixteen years of terror spent living under that man’s thumb. He beats Carol, and Daryl hates him for it. Still, just as surely as he knows Carol is being abused, he knows that the woman is trying her damnedest to keep Ed’s hands off of Sophia. For the most part, she seems to be succeeding.

That doesn’t make him hate Ed any less. If he were a better man, he’d have done something about it. There were times when he’d been about to. It was always Merle that stopped him with firm words hissed threateningly in his ear: _“Ain’t our problem, baby brother. She’s his wife. Leave 'em be. That man will put you on your back sooner’n you can turn. And who’s gonna help ya then, boy? Shane? That little mouse of yours? The kid? Nah, little brother. Best just let them be. Ain’t none of our business.”_

And because Merle was Merle, Daryl had listened. He’s always listened to his brother. This time wasn't any different, and so he laid awake at night, listening to the sounds coming from the Peletier tent, his stomach twisting as he remembered the shame and weakness he'd felt as a boy, and every painful blow his father had dealt him.

Still, he did nothing.

But now Merle is gone and that abusive bastard is dead, and Carol is standing there with her daughter, shocked and frightened, but alive and free for what must be the first time in _years_. Daryl is going to do everything he can to keep her that way. No, not just that. He's gonna do everything he can to make sure she feels safe and looked after, the way he suddenly wishes his mother would have done for him. The way Carol does for Sophia. The way Ed should've done for Carol. The way Daryl hopes can atone for his cowardice when he’d listened to her pain and done nothing to counter it.

He's gonna love her the best way he knows how.


	2. A Blunder, not his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a mistake is made, Carol and Sophia are lost, and Daryl Dixon finds himself having a Very Bad Day.

Those walkers came out of nowhere pretty damn fast, causing all kinds of panic and too much trouble for Daryl to keep an eye on all at once. He'd hearded Carol and Sophia toward the rest of the group and then doubled back to be sure T-Dog got himself hidden. Of course, he'd barely had time to pull a rotting corpse over his own ass before the first walker stumbled by. Carol was momentarily forgotten while he held his breath, waiting for the geeks to find T-Dog. (There was a crazy half-second during which he wondered what he'd do if it happened, but the mental debate didn't last long. T-Dog didn't deserve that kind of death. No one did.) To Daryl's relief, none of the dead did more than sniff around as they passed. He found himself breathing a sigh of relief long before the last walker shuffled past them, but he didn't loosen his grip on his crossbow until he could no longer hear the shuffling gait of the dead.

Even then, he didn't stir. Not an inch. He counted to sixty in his head, knowing it was overkill by the sounds of stable, living feet trampling around a couple yards off. He and T-Dog were further off than the rest of the group, so they were the last people the herd had passed, but Daryl still didn't think Rick would let anyone move around until the man was sure it was safe to do so. With that in mind, Daryl cut his count short, pausing just shy of fifty to shuffle out from underneath his corpse-shelter, groaning in exasperation when his hand plunged into the thing's stomach as he tried to shove it away.

A sudden panicked yelp made him move more quickly, and he craned his neck, straining toward the sound on instinct. It sounded like Glenn, and sure enough, he saw the kid's shoes not a second later. Before he could ask where the danger was, blinding pain turned his vision white. The crack of Gelnn's baseball bat hitting his skull rang in his ears, seeming to grow louder and more muffled with each passing second.

"Daryl?" he heard someone ask.  _Glenn_ , a tired voice in the back of his head supplied. "Oh god, sorry man!" Glenn cried, falling on his knees and hauling the corpse off of Daryl. "I thought you were a walker! I'm so sorry!"

Daryl growled something that was meant to be an insult, but he couldn't seem to get his mouth to form actual words. His head was spinning and stinging and searing. The ringing was growing into a steady roar. His vision was going from white, to grainy, to a very alarming black.

Daryl had passed out enough times to know what it looked like. The last thing he was aware of were Carol's screams.

 

When he came to, there was no one around. He rubbed the back of his head and immediately regretted it when he felt a large bump and then, seconds later, angry lightning bolts of pain. His head was still spinning, but he forced himself to his feet, fighting the nausea that threatened to put him right back on the floor. All the while, he struggled to remember why he woke up on the floor of the Winnebago. All he knew was that his head was  _killing_  him, and that he was reasonably certain it wasn't from a hangover. In fact, there was a part of him that very clearly remembered Glenn smashing a baseball bat into his head, but he knew that couldn't be right. No one was  _that_ stupid, and Glenn especially wasn't. So he was sure it was only a fever dream. He's always had an overactive imagination, after all.

The thing is, there was no imagining that bump on his head.

"Aw, hell!" he growled, shoving open the flimsy RV door and stumbling down the suddenly too-steep steps. "Chinaman!" he called in a harsh whisper, icy blue eyes flashing as he searched for the kid. "You better hop out of the rabbit hole _real_ fast, kid. I've gotta bone ta pick with you!"

Lori, Carl, and T-Dog were the only ones who seemed to be around. Daryl stepped out into the sunlight and squinted around, ignoring instant discomfort it brought him as well as the worried faces of his fellow survivors. "The hell did everyone go?" he asked gruffly, his eyes sweeping the area once more. They were still parked on the highway, but most of the group was noticeably absent. It didn't sit well with him, especially once Lori opened her mouth and then closed it again without speaking, exchanging a meaningful look with T-Dog as she did.

"They're looking for Carol and Sophia," the Grimes brat said loudly. It seemed like he was about to continue, but Lori was quick to hush him, her meaningful look turning into a grimace when she met T-Dog's eyes once more. Daryl wasn't paying attention anymore.

"She screamed," he croaked, his throat suddenly tight. "I heard her. She was screamin'."

"Walkers went after Sophia and chased her into the woods," T-Dog explained. "Carol ran after her, and as soon as everyone realized what happened, they went to look for them."

"That was hours ago," Lori said quietly, her hand tight on Carl's shoulder.

He didn't need to hear anything more. He couldn't even think beyond the fact that Carol was  _lost_ , he failed her, she was  _lost_ , he had to find her,  _she was lost_. He snatched up his crossbow from where someone had placed it beside Merle's bike, ignoring T-Dog's calls for him to  _slow_ _down_ and  _wait for the others_. (He didn't know why these people kept trying to tell him what to do.) He was already at the treeline when Dale's voice rang out from the top of the Winnebago: "They're back!"

The words stopped him in his tracks and flooded his body with relief. They were back. They were okay. He strode toward the search party emerging from the woods just a few dozen yards away from where he'd been about to enter, and  _there_ was Glenn -- he could almost forgive the kid his headache, he was so grateful. As long as Carol was okay, he wouldn't hurt the kid  _too_ badly. It was an honest mistake, after all, and Daryl would rather Glenn be overly cautious than dead. (Because, contrary to popular belief, he would like these people to remain alive. They weren't the best company, but they were usually better than wondering whether he was the last man on Earth.)

As he drew closer to the group, though, the relief that had flooded his veins seconds before quickly turned to ice. Yeah, there was Glenn, and Rick, Shane, and Andrea. The only face he wanted to see was missing.

"Where is she?" he growled, his teeth bared as he advanced toward Rick -- the man had a bad habit of leaving folks behind.

"We've been looking for hours without one sign of her, Daryl, and the sun is about to --"

He was snarling before Rick even finished his sentence, eyes flashing quickly between the four. He wasn't sure who to strangle first -- Rick and Shane for coming back without Carol or Glenn for knocking him out. (Of course, he would've liked to strangle Andrea just for being Andrea, but it wasn't at the top of his List of Concerns for the day.)

"So you just gave up?" he demanded, his voice bursting out in the evening quiet with jarring force and easily cutting off Rick's tangent.

"Now look, it's getting dark and --"

Abruptly, Daryl turned and took his leave, realizing that every second he wasted arguing with those idiots was a second he could spend finding Carol. So he ignored Shane's angry insistence that he  _stop_ and  _get back over here_. (Seriously. He wasn't a dog that they could train and command.) He just kept walking, and soon enough, the quiet of the forest was around him, cooling his temper but doing nothing to ease his jumping nerves.

There was a very real chance that she was hurt, and somehow that alone was enough to negate the feelings of calm and control that being in the woods normally granted him. He was pretty damn close to panicking, actually, and felt about as 'in control' of the situation as he felt in control of the weather. A better way to state it would be 'not at all in control,' or perhaps even better -- 'pretty damn helpless.'

He hated that. He really did.

But he pushed on anyway, distress mounting as he realized the forest was  _covered_ in the tracks of the others -- he could see the tread of Shane's boots and Glenn's punky kid shoes pretty clearly. But Carol's footprints were nowhere to be found. All signs of her had probably been trampled by the group's uncoordinated efforts. They might as well have waited for him to wake up for all the good they did him. It would've made his job a lot easier. They might as well have just shot themselves and saved him the trouble of hating their very existence, because that was what he really wanted. (Except it wasn't. What he wanted was for Carol to not be lost.)

It was after four hours of scouring the darkening woods that he finally stumbled to a resigned halt, sweat dampening his brow and his breath coming in uneven pants. He hadn't seen any sign of her, despite the fact that he'd found the edge of the group's wanderings and had been searching clean forest for the past hour and a half. The sun was going down, and he knew that she must be terrified out there all alone. He knew that her chances of survival went down with each passing second, except they didn't because she wasn't going to die. He was going to find her and she'd be just fine but he needed to do it  _fast_ , he needed to find her  _now_.

His thoughts jumped wildly, skipping over the possibility that she might already be gone because she  _wasn't_. She couldn't be. He was supposed to protect her, and he was damn well  _going to_.

"Carol!" he called, his desperation forcing him to break the number one rule of survival: Be quiet.

There was no answer. Not even the groans of the dead drifted toward him through the trees. There was nothing around but him and the sunset.

"Carol!" he called again, louder this time. He moved erratically through the trees, calling her name every few yards. There was no way she wouldn't hear him. There was no way  _anything_ in this forest wouldn't hear him eventually. He'll never admit it, but the thought scared him just as thoroughly as he was counting on it to be true.

 _There's no other way,_ he told himself.  _There's no other way, and I can't let my own worries get in the way._

So he kept going, still calling out for Carol despite the fear eating at his belly. Nothing had come after him yet, but it was only a matter of time. His eyes were constantly scanning and his crossbow was at the ready, but he knew he'd probably hear anything coming his way long before he saw it. So he listened carefully between his calls, hoping he'd hear Carol's voice and absolutely dreading the sounds of the dead.

But when he finally heard signs of life, it was neither that assaulted his ears. The scream that seemed to rip the very forest in half belonged to a young girl, and with a sinking sense of guilt, Daryl remembered that Carol wasn't the only one lost in the woods.

"Sophia!" he yelled, surging toward the sound, a string of curses escaping him just after her name. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about her.

"Momma!" Sophia shrieked, another one of her terrified screams gripping the night. The sound made Daryl's skin break out in goosebumps, and he swore to himself that he'd never forget the girl again. From now on, he'd worry after her at least as much as he worried after Carol. After all, what good would it do to save a good mother if he lost the woman her child? His guilt grew with each scream and then seemed to take over his body when at last he came upon the girl. Fear and anger twisted in his gut as he took in the scene. How could the others have abandoned their search so early when something like  _this_ could be happening?  _Was currently happening_.

Sophia was up a tree, but not nearly far enough. A walker was tugging on her shoelaces while another scrambled to grab her ankle and a third shambled toward the tree. Her screams were sure to draw more, and Daryl wanted to be long gone before that happened. He raised his crossbow and sent a bolt flying through the head of the one that had her by the shoelaces. The creature immediately slumped forward, lifeless once more, but it's bony fingers were still caught in the girl's shoelaces. His wordless shout of horror was drowned out by Sophia's terrified squeals as the dead walker fell to the side, bring Sophia down right after it.

He didn't have enough time to reload his crossbow. The second walker was bearing down on Sophia, quickly overpowering her vicious kicks and valiant attempts and scrambling backward. The girl was fighting just as hard as she was sobbing, and if Daryl had had the time, he might've admired her for it. The girl was tougher than she looked. She had a fighting spirit -- one that might be even stronger than his. Daryl couldn't imaging his skinny, twelve-year-old self facing down a walker, even though Merle'd been teaching him to fight for years before that. But in the few seconds it took for Daryl to sprint to her aid, she seemed to deal with the walker remarkably well, all things considered.

That ended when the walker collapsed on top of her, Daryl's knife protruding from the back of it's head. All that fight seemed to drain right out of her body, and she stared up at Daryl with panicked, watery eyes, her little body still heaving with the force of her sobs. For one heart-wrenching moment, Daryl was caught up in her red-rimmed stare. Fear and pain warred for dominance in those baby blues, but there was something else. Something small and quiet but exponentially relieved -- grateful, even.

Then that moment was over, and undead arms were wrapping themselves around his shoulders, nearly pinning his arms to his sides. He struggled to throw the creature off while straining to reach the knife that was still lodged in the other walker's skull. He could hear the creature's rattling breath; could feel it come out in cold, impatient huffs. It was so close to his throat that he could taste the rot and decay that hovered around it like a veil, and before he knew what was happening, he was knocked off his feet and the thing was  _on top_ of him, blackened teeth just inches from his lips and coming closer every second in what was sure to be the worst kiss of his life. He kicked at the walker's stomach to no avail -- it didn't even pause, still straining forward. All he could do was try to hold it in place with a demented hug.

The thing was huge. Bigger than him, and it hadn't been dead for long. The older ones didn't have this much energy, this much raw power. The thing was quickly breaking out of his grasp, and as his fingers, clasped behind the walker's back, slipped just a fraction of an inch, he knew he was done for. He was going to die.

And then he wasn't, and the hilt of his knife was inches from his cheek, the blade hidden inside the walker's skull.

He shoved the monster off of him, grabbing his knife as he did, and did a quick scan of the area before turning to face the panicked little girl that'd saved his life.

 


	3. A show of strength, not his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl and Sophia bunker down for the night, and Daryl's Very Bad Day continues past sunset, and then past sunrise.

She was shaking like a leaf, lips parted in a silent wail that Daryl imagined he could hear if he stared at her hard enough.

"Ya alright? Ya bit?" Daryl grunted, dropping to his knees to examine the girl when it became apparent she wouldn't be answering. She was covered in all kinds of scrapes and scratches, but none of them looked like the kind caused by fingernails. He paused his check-up when he got to her ankles and saw that the left one was swollen and bruised. "That's a bad sprain," he said to himself, worry coiling in the pit of his stomach. The girl couldn't run like that, and they had to get out of there fast. He twisted around again, making sure the didn't have any company.

"Are you okay?"

Her voice was cracked and high, and it rang through the woods with startling volume. Daryl swung around to face her again, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue. When he saw her tear-stained face, however, he tried a gentler approach.

"M'fine," he said quickly, hoping to reassure her. "We gotta be real quiet, now. Think you can walk like this? Can't hang around here long."

Her little nod was all he needed. He sprang to his feet and scooped up his crossbow, which had been dropped in his struggle with the walker. "This way," he said gruffly, gesturing back toward the highway. Sophia limped after him, sucking in a breath with every step she took. Each sound drove another spike straight through his conscience and into his soul, wounding him in the worst kind of way. They'd only gone a few yard when he stopped and turned to regard the girl. She wasn't too big, and she was even skinnier now than she had been when he'd first met her. He could probably carry her back to the highway without a problem. He'd dragged bigger bucks to further places, after all.

He lurched toward her and paused when she startled. "Alright if I carry you?" he asked hesitantly, holding out his arms. She gave another tiny nod and stepped toward him while he adjusted the strap of his crossbow, purposefully putting off contact. It didn't matter that he'd been the one to initiate it -- the idea of having anyone in his breathing space didn't sit well with him, and that translated to a crippling awkwardness that, more often than not, set his teeth gnashing and his tongue lashing out at anyone nearby.

But he wouldn't holler at Sophia. Not today, anyway. No, he'd pick her up and he'd carry her to safety, and he wouldn't say a damn thing about it. She deserved that, after all. She'd saved his life.

Daryl sucked in a breath and regarded the girl in front of him, still fiddling nervously with the strap stretched across his chest. She was waiting for him to move, blue eyes still swimming in tears. With one last sigh, Daryl ducked down and swept her feet out from under her, catching her back with his other arm and heaving her up in one quick movement, earning a startled squeak that he might've found amusing on any other day. As it was, he kept his mouth shut. Nothing about their situation invited any sort of levity, and he'd never been a fan of that crap, anyway, preferring to leave it to Merle when at all possible.

"Thanks," he said instead, keeping his eyes on the surrounding woods as he spoke. He took one experimental step forward and then another, and when he saw it wouldn't jostle her too badly, he started walking at a speed just under his normal pace. The girl remained largely silent, aside from a wet sounding sniffle every now and then. It grated at his nerves like nothing else, but she was being quiet enough not to attract walkers and he  _owed this girl his life_ , damn it.

He couldn't get over that fact. It was too strange, and if he thought his head wound was any worse than it actually was, he might've waved off the episode as fantasy. Merle always said he liked to daydream too much.

They walked for almost an hour without too much trouble, having stopped only four times for Daryl to put down a lone walker. They didn't have very far left to go when they ran into a small herd. There were only about a half-dozen walkers, from what he could see, but he still paused a good ways off, Sophia clutched tightly in his arms. Seven wasn't too much for him to handle on a normal day, but he didn't want to leave the girl undefended, even if she was a brave little thing. So he changed directions, heading parallel to the highway instead of straight toward it.

"Mister Dixon?" Sophia asked softly, this time managing to keep her wavering voice just under a whisper.

"Don't call me that," he snapped, gritting his teeth when he remembered he was being nice to her. "Please," he added, the word coming out even harsher than his initial statement. Sophia's mouth snapped shut. She didn't try to speak to him again.

Daryl looped around the little pack of walkers and emerged from the woods in the same spot he'd entered. No one sounded the alarm until he was already in the circle of their fire, settling Sophia in the nearest chair. He was largely ignored while the group checked her over, and that suited him just fine. He grabbed a bowl and a bit of the canned chili that'd been set out for dinner and escaped to eat by Merle's bike, which was just outside the ring of cars. Of course, nothing put Rick off when he wanted to talk to someone, and the man ended up standing in front of him before too long, hands on his hips and stupid hat pulled down low.

"What?" Daryl snapped. He was being nice to Sophia, not Rick.

"It was a good thing you did," he said without preamble.

"Weren't nothin'," Daryl replied, his mouth twisting into a sneer as he bit out, "Did what _anyone_ should'a done."

Rick visibly flinched. "Alright, I deserved that," he muttered, taking off the hat and rubbing his forehead. "You're right. We should'a kept goin'."

"Yeah," he snapped, shoveling more chili into his mouth. "Ya should have."

"We're going back out again at first light. Are you coming?"

Daryl glared. Rick got the message. He must've passed it on, too, because after Rick left, no one else bothered him. He retired to the cab of his truck and pretended to sleep, knowing all the while that Carol was out there somewhere, alone and afraid. In his head he could still hear Sophia's terrified cry for her mother, and when he finally fell into a fitful rest, her screams only increased in volume.

He ended up rising long before the sun.

"Good morning," Lori said flatly, not looking up from the camp stove she was hovering over. Daryl grunted in response and stretched like a cat before shutting the truck's door behind him. "Spam and beans for breakfast," Lori continued. "Want a plate?"

Yes. "M'fine," he muttered, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and glancing around. They were the only ones up, which suited him just fine. Lori wasn't his favorite person, but she didn't talk to him too much. "Girl okay?"

She finally looked up from the pan, eyebrows raised higher than usual in her signature startled expression. Daryl still didn't like her, but there was something very disarming about her doe-brown eyes. Most of the time, it kept him from snapping at her too badly. She got away with just a bit more than anyone besides Carol.

"Sophia is fine," she said after a moment, still regarding him with a wide-eyed stare. The barest hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips before her expressive brows drew inward. She looked back down at the pan and pushed around the burning spam. "A little shook up and missing her mother, but..."

"M'gonna find her," Daryl snapped, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Promise?"

Daryl swung around to face the girl that'd just emerged from the tent behind him. Sophia's wet blue eyes were still rimmed with red, and much like Lori's brown ones, they kept him from speaking too harshly to her. Hers, however, were not so much disarming as they were shocking. Delicate. Bold. They made him think of those clear glass earrings his mother had loved -- the ones he and Merle had accidentally broken when they knocked down her jewelry box. He remembered how the little blue orbs had hung so daintily from her ears, and how they'd sparkled in the sun and cast dynamic blue shadows on her white throat.

Except instead of just being pretty, Sophia's eyes were also full of a fierce and mysterious  _something_ that his mother's earrings had certainly lacked.

"Do you promise?" Sophia pressed, stepping closer to him. Daryl flinched away from her and immediately felt foolish for being scared of a little girl.

"Said I would, wouldn't?" he snapped, looking down and pretending to adjust his knife to hide the sudden redness he felt rising on his cheeks.

"Please? _Please_ promise?" she begged, moving closer still. Her voice was gaining that manic edge from the night before, rising higher and higher with every syllable. The girl was gonna start wailing again if he didn't do something about it. "Please Mister Dixon? Please say you promise?"

"Yes! Christ, girl, _I promise_. I'll find your ma," he growled, stalking away from them and heading toward the woods. He couldn't tell if that roiling in his belly was hunger, anger, or guilt.

"Wait!" Sophia cried, catching up and trailing at his heels. "I'm coming with you!"

"The hell you are!" he snapped, turning on his heel and baring his teeth at the little girl. "S'dangerous out there! Just look what happened last night!"

He immediately regretted his words, remembering again that he'd be dead without her. She seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because her silent stare spoke volumes.

"Christ!" he said again, letting loose a string of swears that had been building up since she'd first spoken. "Go and ask the sheriff. He says you can come, you're in."

She raised her chin, her blue eyes flashing with fear, sadness, and that something else that he just couldn't put his finger on. "I'm coming with," she said again, her words coming out in a sob that shouldn't have sounded so strong but  _did_. "I  _am_. She's my  _mother_."

He couldn't believe it. That was all it took to sway him? Just three words, spoken by a teary twelve-year-old? No, he was't gonna let that slide. The kid was gonna march right back to Lori, who was watching the proceedings with worried eyes. She'd back him up. The woman wouldn't want a kid out in the woods, and she sure as hell wouldn't want the girl exposed to his verbal abuse all day without reprieve. He wouldn't let this girl walk over him like that.

"Girl's comin' with me," Daryl called, turning back to the woods so that he wouldn't see the look on Lori's face. His eyes cut to the solemn girl that now stood beside him. "You best follow directions," he hissed at her, striding toward the forest. "And quit your snifflin' before something hears ya." _  
_

If he were being honest with himself, he might admit that Sophia wasn't awful company in the woods. She was quiet as a mouse, she stuck right behind him, and she never questioned his orders. He was sure Rick and Shane wouldn't have been quite so accommodating, and even more sure Glenn would've talked his ear off by now. But they'd been scouring the woods for half the day, and Sophia hadn't made a peep.

Unfortunately for her, Daryl was in a bad mood. So he pretended she was irritating him (and in a way, she  _was_ , just by her being there) and snapped at her for noises she wasn't making. By all means, she  _should_ have been complaining. Further examination of her ankle showed that it wasn't quite as bad as it'd looked in the dark, but she'd still had less than a day of recovery, and it must've been smarting. And he  _knew_ he should be making her drink more water, but he couldn't bring himself to offer it to her even when he heard the slightly ragged edge to her breathing.

She'd asked to come along, after all. She should've known it would be tough going.

Eventually, though, he gave into his conscience and led her back toward the creek. "We're stoppin' here," he snapped, throwing his pack down on the bank and moving to splash some water on his face. Sophia sat down and pulled off her shoe so she could stick her leg in the cold water. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, guilt eating at him anew. "That hurt much?" he asked after a moment, handing her the water bottle.

"A little," she admitted. "Not as bad as yesterday."

The swelling had gone down, and in the light of day, it was clear that the bruising was from minor blunt trauma rather than the sprain. She was skinny enough that he was sure a feather could leave a mark on her if the wind blew right. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.

"Mister Dixon?" she asked hesitantly.

"Told ya not t'call me that," he muttered, his voice softer than it would have been if he'd had time to forget how fresh and red all those scratches looked against her pale skin.

"Sir --"

"That either," he cut it. "Daryl."

She blinked at him, and for a moment, Daryl was sure she'd lost her courage. He made an impatient sound under his breath and turned back toward the creek to stare moodily at the opposite bank.

"I killed that man," she said at last, drawing her knees up to her chest. "In the woods last night."

He wished he could forget. "Weren't no man," he mumbled in what he imagined was a comforting tone. "Was already dead. Didn't kill _nothin_ '."

"I was so scared," she whispered, her nails digging into the skin of her legs. "I thought he was gonna get you. I thought I was gonna be all alone again."

He grunted, not quite sure what to say. Part of him felt like he should thank her again, or tell her she'd done a good job putting that thing down. But he didn't think she'd want to hear the latter, and  _he_ didn't want to try the first. So he stayed silent. He stayed silent but his heart went out to her, and now more than ever he wanted to find Carol, but they hadn't seen heads nor tails of her and he was starting to think they never would.

Suddenly, he could feel her eyes on him. "Is she dead?" Sophia asked softly. "You can tell me if you think so. It's okay."

"I'll find your mom," he said again, glaring into the girl's eyes with steely determination. Daryl might not have cared much for his own mother, but he knew Carol Peletier was a different breed than the woman who had raised him. He knew she loved her daughter -- that she'd do anything to keep her daughter safe. She deserved for someone to do the same for her. "I'll find her. I promise. I'm not gonna let you be an orphan."

He didn't know it at the time, but those words were gonna change his life.


	4. Faithlessness - surprisingly, not his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophia attaches herself to Daryl, much to his consternation.

They were deep in the forest when the shot rang out, and Daryl pretended he wasn't pleased when Sophia stopped and looked to him with attentive eyes. The girl was good at follow the leader, that was certain.

"Hunting rifle," he informed her, fingering the strap of his crossbow. "Pretty far off from us. Don't think it was one of ours. Best keep going. Was only one shot, probably no one's in trouble. They'll be lookin' in groups, a fire fight would've had'a lot more shots."

Sophia nodded tightly, her head quirked like a dog's. It was a familiar gesture by then -- she did that whenever she was absorbing information. Daryl had been talking to her more since their stop at the river. It was usually just to point out an interesting set of animal tracks or a helpful plant, but she seemed pleased as punch to have such information imparted on her, and so he'd kept at it. Sophia, for her part, had remained largely silent. Aside from her words at the river, Daryl hadn't heard a peep out of her all day. It didn't worry him -- he took her for a quiet girl -- but he did wonder if perhaps her silence was his fault.

"Any questions?" he asked gruffly, turning his back on the girl so she wouldn't see how silly saying that made him feel.

"How come you don't like being called Mister Dixon?" she said at once, as though the question had been on the tip of her tongue all afternoon. Daryl guessed that it had been.

"Questions about the lesson, wise ass," he said flatly, gritting his teeth.

"Shouldn't we go see what happened?"

If he'd been alone, he might've tried to find the source of the noise. But he wasn't about to take Sophia toward strange gunfire, and he was even more reluctant to drag her around looking for smoke with that ankle of hers. He really shouldn't have let her come along.

"Nah, it's probably nothing," he shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"It could be my mom," she said quietly. "Maybe... maybe they  _found_ her."

"That's stupid," Daryl snapped. "Why would they shoot if it was her?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

"It's late," he snarled, turning back toward the highway. He saw her glance toward the sun in disbelief, as though Daryl couldn't tell it was still high in the sky. He didn't care. He just stalked back in the direction they'd come, his brows drawn together in anger. When they happened upon a walker, he took it down as viciously as he could, hoping the experience would be jarring to the girl and then immediately wondering what the hell was wrong with him. To her credit, she seemed virtually unaffected despite the fleck of blood that had gotten on her cheek. She was a bit green, of course, but he found himself forgiving her queasiness.

"Are we going back to the others?" she asked when he started walking again.

"Yeah," he said shortly. "S'late. Others will worry 'bout us if they don' know who fired that shot."

"Do you think it could have been?"

"Could'a been what?"

"My mom. Do you think it was her they shot?"

He was facing her before he was even aware he'd turned around. "Why d'ya want her to be dead so bad?" he snarled, his hands clenched into fists. "Said I'd find her, didn't I? Why're you out here if you don't think we'll find her, huh?"

She didn't flinch this time when he stepped toward her, despite the fact that he was  _trying_ to seem threatening this time.

"I _do_ think we'll find her," she said quietly, her steady gaze prickling like fiberglass on his skin, "and I want her to be alive. But I know my mom better than anyone."

He hated the certainty in her words, the sorrow and acceptance in her eyes. He hated how blue they were, how they glimmered eternally with unspent tears. In that moment, he hated everything about the girl, from her angel-gold hair to her bruised ankle. He hated the slim wrists that'd seemed too breakable to have held and wielded his knife and each and every one of those freckles that looked liked they'd been painted on her doll-like cheeks by some old master.

She was too young, too small, too meek to be so faithless.

"You don't know  _nothin'_ ," he hissed, pity and anger warring in the pit of his stomach.

Sophia bowed her head. "I know my mother," she said softly. Daryl didn't respond. He knew that anything that came out of his mouth now wouldn't be suitable for her ears. So he turned again toward the highway and decided he wouldn't be looking at her again until they reached it. The only way he knew she stayed right behind him the entire time was the soft tread of her sneakers on the crackling forest floor. She kept up surprisingly well, considering how quickly he was walking and the slight limp she'd had for the past hour. Daryl knew he was being too hard on her, but there was a part of him that felt better when she suffered. He knew it was vindictive of him, but he couldn't bring himself to care when he felt like this. Her words had made him so  _angry_.

He was going to find Carol. There was no question in his mind, but her words had rocked him to his core. How could she be so certain that her mother was dead?

Daryl remembered the smell of ash and rainstorms mixing in the air that fateful evening, and the way their neighbor had held him in her arms, whispering that it would all be okay. They'd all told him his mother was dead and he'd kept on believing she was out there, alive and well. How could he do anything different when she was his _mother_? He'd loved her, and he'd had to keep on believing she was out there somewhere, maybe even looking for him as he stared out the window, watching the driveway and waiting for her to appear.

He wanted to ask her what made her so sure of her mother's fate. He wanted to tear down her arguments and rip away that sad resignation in her eyes.

But he didn't ask. He hunched his shoulders forward and led the girl through the woods, thinking about mothers and fire and love.

 

"Where have you been all day?" Shane demanded, raising his voice at him as soon as he saw Daryl making his way across the highway. He hopped down from the top of the RV and darted toward them, his eyes wild and nervous.

"Lookin' for Carol," he snapped, more irritable than ever. "Know what that gunfire all about?"

"Carl got shot," Shane said tightly, his jaw ticking. "Some old hunter. Shot at a buck, went straight through the thing and hit Carl. They went to the man's farm. Rick and Lori are with him. We would've been there, too, but we had to wait for your sorry ass."

"Came as soon as I heard the shot," Daryl growled.

"You should've been out there on your own!"

"Wasn't on my own."

"You think a little girl counts?" he snarled, crowding closer and baring his teeth. "We were gonna look together, man. Where were you?"

"Shane, come on," Andrea called in exasperation, waving them all closer. "We're going to see him now, okay?"

"We can't all just leave!" Daryl protested. "What if Carol comes back here and finds us all gone?"

"We left a note," Shane said flatly, gesturing dismissively toward a red car piled high with food and water. "Let's go. Dale is leading the way. He's got the map."

Daryl's head swung around as he heard the roar of the Winnebago's engine. Glenn, T-Dog and Andrea were already stowed away inside and Shane was pacing angrily toward the decrepit yellow Jeep Cherokee that Carol should've been driving but  _wasn't_. They were all gone before Daryl realized Sophia was still standing behind him, watching him with expectant eyes. Like it was his job to find her a ride just because everyone else seemed to have forgotten about her. And it wasn't, but at the same time it  _was_ , because he wasn't gonna be the guy that left a little girl to fend for herself.

"Only got the bike," he grunted, because even if he wouldn't leave her behind, he  _certainly_ wasn't gonna be the guy that Merle slaughtered for leaving his precious bike behind. He hoped she wouldn't try to get him to leave it behind. He'd given in easily enough that morning to make him wary of trying to argue with her.

But Sophia followed him without protest, though her eyes were bright and terrified when he climbed on and motioned for her to do the same. She scrambled on right behind him and dug her spindly fingers into his sides, curling them around his shirt.

"Ready?" he asked uncomfortably, wishing she'd taken hold of the seat instead of his torso.

"Don't you need a helmet for these things?"

"I'll look into it," he said sarcastically. "Hold on tight."

And they were off. Daryl caught up to the Cherokee and shot Shane a glare. The man seemed surprised to see Sophia sitting behind him, but he didn't slow down. Daryl was stuck with her sharp elbows squeezing at his ribs every time he turned, and her sharp breaths in his ear every time he accelerated. Luckily, the torture ended soon enough. The farm was only a few miles back down the highway. The dirt road gave Sophia hell, but he almost thought it was funny the way she squeaked with every bounce. It didn't bother him very much, at any rate.

"Okay?" he called over his shoulder, pulling up behind the Cherokee and examining the girl's ashen face. It looked like she was back to her mute nods.

"Where is he?" Shane snarled, drawing Daryl's attention. There was a white-haired stranger on the porch, watching them with wary, solemn eyes.

"This way," the stranger said, waving Shane into the house.

"Can I go see Carl, too?" Sophia asked hesitantly. Daryl watched the house suspiciously, wondering whether or not it was wise to trust these people. "Mister Dixon?"

He jumped when he realized Sophia's question had been directed at him. For once, he ignored the title and jumped straight to the question. "Girl, why are you askin' me?" he snapped, jerking away from her and stepping off the bike to go through his bag. The girl hopped off as well and took a few halting steps toward the house.

Daryl sighed. "No, just stay here until we're sure he's alright for visits," he mumbled, thinking rather darkly that he wouldn't want Sophia wishing the Grimes kid dead, too. He ignored the twinge of guilt that came with the thought. "Go tell Dale you're hungry," he commanded, waving her away from him. He'd spent enough time with the girl for one day.

"I'm not hungry," she said sadly, wrapping her arms around herself.

"You're hungry," he disagreed, nudging her toward the RV. "Hell, _I'm_ hungry. Let's get somethin'ta eat."

It was only then that she relented, and Daryl paused to give her a suspicious stare when he realized he'd be spending the afternoon with her after all.


	5. A vested interest in friendship - definitely not his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl is made uncomfortable by normal human interaction, Sophia decides she likes that, and Shane weirdly does, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. The chapters may start getting a little bit longer.

Daryl didn't know what he was doing. Sure, he wanted the kid to survive. He wasn't nearly as close to the Grimes brat as Shane was, and he wasn't obligated to go out of guilt like Otis was, but he still felt a certain pull to do what he could. Besides, Glenn had the same blood type as the kid and T-dog wasn't going anywhere with that arm of his. He'd really been the only other option, unless they wanted to let Andrea tag along, and he didn't think their already somber morale could take that kind of drag.

So he'd gone along. But when he'd hopped in the car with Shane and Otis, he somehow hadn't been expecting this. The place was riddled with walkers. Rife with them. They were shambling along behind the fence in an endless sea of shifting bodies. They were walking in and out of building, popping out form behind cars and buildings in a twisted game of hide-and-seek. The whole situation made his stomach twist in fear, but --

But he'd always been good at hide-and-seek.

He swallowed down the fear and recalled the quiet resolve in Sophia's eyes as she'd said goodbye to them. _"You're gonna find the stuff for Carl,"_ she'd said to him, plain as could be. _"Just like you'll find my mom."  
_

Except they didn't even know for sure that the stuff would be here, and Daryl was having trouble believing in it with the same certainty he believed he'd find Carol. Hell, even that certainty was starting to fade. But this was something Sophia seemed to actually believe, so he figured he could allow a bit of hope to aide him. After all, there was a chance the girl actually knew what she was talking about. He didn't know where he got that idea, but it stuck and he let it. He'd always been good at imagining things, after all.

Shane's low whistle brought him back to Earth. "Where we goin', old man?" he asked in a hard voice, and Daryl wasn't scared of Shane, but he sure was glad not to be on the pointy end of all that anger.

"That trailer," Otis said in a shaky voice, pointing out a dinky little building just on the other side of the fence. It didn't look like it would be too hard to get to, but Daryl wasn't looking forward to trying to get back out. There was no sneaky way of waltzing in there. The walkers would surround them before they even hit the door, and then it wouldn't matter whether or not the needed supplies were inside: They'd be stuck.

"How are we gonna do this?" Shane demanded, agitation clear in his voice. Daryl ignored the part of him that bristled at the tone and tried to think of a solution. Sometimes it was easier to keep Shane happy than to fight for his own pride.

"Could pull a Rick," Daryl suggested dryly. At Shane's sharp look, he hurried to explain himself. "Not  _that._ We could set off a car alarm at the other end of this place. Walkers will go that way and we can dash in real quick like. Hopefully they'll be far enough that we can get back out again without too much trouble."

"Good enough. Let's do it," Shane said at once, bursting out of the car and slashing at an oncoming walker with his knife. It was a vicious wound, but not one meant to kill -- One made out of a desire to hurt things. Daryl knew Shane was spitting mad. He just hoped the man would remember Daryl hadn't been the one to shoot Carl.

Daryl followed him out, keeping his crossbow at the ready and his knife within easy reach. Otis made to follow, too, but Shane shot him a quelling look that had the man hastening to get back in the Cherokee. Daryl approved of the decision. The old man wouldn't be any help until they got into the trailer, and there was no point in risking him when they  _needed_ him to identify the supplies for Carl.

"How we gonna get him over the fence, man?" Shane muttered under his breath, his eyes skating around the darkening parking lot with trained precision.

"I'unno," he shot back, irritation winning out over his desire to stay out of Shane's crosshairs. "S'your party, remember?"

His sarcasm didn't go unnoticed. "Hey!" Shane snapped, baring his teeth in threat. "You better be taking this seriously. Carl's --" He swallowed hard and surged forward, heading toward an expensive-looking car. He seemed to have put the argument out of mind, because when he glanced back at Daryl, his eyes were full of question and readiness. Daryl nodded and braced himself. The crash of Shane breaking in the window still made him flinch, and the car alarm that blared right after was even worse. He hated loud noises -- they went against his nature. It was why his preferred weapon was a crossbow.

"C' _mon_ ," Shane urged, slapping Daryl's shoulder as he rushed past. There wasn't much he could do beside follow after the man, considering the amount of walkers that were headed their way. He still wished he could start hollering at Shane for just touching him like that, but he knew Shane to be a tactile person. Lord knew he saw him cuddle up to Rick often enough.

But he stopped thinking about it after that. Sometimes, it was just too confusing to try and make sense of the Rick, Shane, and Lori thing. After all, he'd come to know Lori as Shane's woman. It seemed unnatural to see her with someone else, but Rick was her  _husband_ , and he supposed that made it okay. But then it wasn't okay, because she'd cheated on him. Cheated on both of them? He couldn't picture that. Lori wasn't his favorite person, but he liked her, and liked to picture her as he had when he'd first met her, doe-eyed and unblemished.

"Where's your head?" Shane asked, getting in his face once more. This time, it's with more frustration and concern than anger, so Daryl lets it slide and tries to focus on the situation. He lets Shane's question go decidedly unanswered.

"What's the plan?" he asked the other two, surveying the now mostly-clear green of the high school. Most of the walkers were piled against the fence near the shrieking car.

"The plan is to run like hell," Shane huffed, sizing up the fence. Abruptly, he turned to face Otis. "You okay to make it over, old man?" he asked harshly. Otis drew himself up and approached the fence with determination in his eyes.

"Cover me?" he asked.

"You got it."

He heaved himself over, attracting the attention of a handful of walkers that Daryl and Shane picked off, true to their word. Shane was up and over as soon as Otis's feet hit the ground, and then it was Daryl's turn to secure his crossbow and scramble to the other side. Shane clapped his shoulder again and kept his hold so he could pull the other man down behind a car, ignoring it when Daryl jerked away from his hand.

"Quit it," he muttered, peeking over the hood of the car. The walkers were still distracted, for the most part.

"Good to go?" Shane asked him, ignoring his comment. He was going a lot of ignoring. Daryl decided to follow his example and focused on the task at hand. He gave a tight nod. One by one, the three ducked between cars and debris, heading toward the medical trailer as expediently as possible. They were almost there when a walker stumbled out from behind the trailer, and then another and another until there was a whole pack of them. Most were headed toward the car alarm, but Daryl was sure that first one had seen Otis dart into the building. It certainly saw  _him_ when he made a break for it, knowing it would only be a matter of seconds before there was something standing between him and that door. So he ran, and he made it inside seconds before the first walker slammed into the door. He found himself feeling grateful it opened outward and then immediately wondered whether or not he'd be able to push it open again.

It didn't matter. Soon enough, the walkers would break the flimsy thing down.

"We gotta hurry," he called to the wheezing old man, taking a stand near the door and making sure his crossbow was ready to fire. He'd only be able to get one shot in before he had to switch to his knife and fight in close quarters. He was going to make it count.

"I can't carry all this by myself," the man said anxiously. "What happened to Shane?"

Daryl didn't answer. He hesitated for a moment, watching the first splinter appear near the top hinge of the door.

"Daryl?"

He swallowed down the fear and turned to the other man, taking the equipment from his hands and shoving it into a nearby bag. He resisted the urge to check the door again and helped to gather the remaining items on the list.

"Got everything?" he snapped, shouldering the bag and drawing his knife. Beside him, Otis nodded, hitching his own bag higher on his shoulder. "Good."

Daryl turned and shoved open a window that looked out behind the trailer. He fired a bolt into the nearest walker's skull before vaulting out the window and landing silently on the pavement below. The area behind the trailer was relatively clear, but he took down the four walkers that were still hanging around and kept an eye on a group that was further off but making their way toward him.

"Hurry up," he snapped, collecting his bolt and then swearing when he realized it was broken. He threw it to the ground in disgust and pulled out a fresh one to knock, only to be interrupted by Otis's untimely reunion with the pavement. Daryl swore again when the man it the ground with a sickening crunch and hurried forward to help him to his feet. "What broke?" he demanded, anxiety working his voice into a grating snarl.

"Ankle," the man gasped, clutching at his leg.

The man would not make it out. Daryl knew that even as he drew the man's arm around his shoulder and tried his best to high-tail them out of there. As soon as the rounded the corner and made it to the front of the building, Daryl knew they were done for. Other walkers had come to see why their fellows were piled against the trailer, and they were all staring at him, now. He tried to hurry Otis past them, as they hadn't quiet gotten between him and the fence, but he knew it was futile. The only way he'd make it was fighting, and he couldn't fight with the old man weighing him down.

When the first walker reached them, Daryl ducked out from under Otis's arm to draw his knife and stab it in the eye. When the second came, he stopped trying to help the man back to his feet so that he could shove it away and stomp on its head. When the third came, he tried not to slip on the crushed remains of skull and brain as he surged forward to end it's non-life.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth all came at the same time. The seventh was just after them, but headed for Otis instead of Daryl.

"Don't be an idiot, Dixon!"

Daryl's head snapped toward the fence, where Shane was scrambling back over, taking down walkers and coming  _toward_ him. He had to turn away to take down more walkers before Shane reached him, and when he caught sight of the man again, he was tearing the bag out of Otis's grasp. Daryl fought his way back toward them and was caught off guard when Shane rushed past him again, very much alone.

"Help!" Otis called weakly. He was already bitten.

"Run, Daryl!" Shane shouted, already back at the fence.

"Don't leave me here! Help!"

"Don't  _do_ this, man! Run!" _  
_

Daryl ran. He blocked out Otis's screams and ran toward the fence, walkers at his heels the entire time. When he reached it, he hauled himself up without thought or care for the man behind him, his need to survive too strong to overcome. He swung his leg over the fence to the other side. The _safe_ side. _  
_

Thirty-eight walkers hit the fence behind him.

Daryl hit the ground.

"Get up!" Shane snarled, pulling him to his feet and dragging him toward the Cherokee. "They're  _comin'_ , man! They're tearing it down!"

Daryl knew it. He could hear the squeal of metal against metal and the enraged snarls of the walkers. He didn't look back. He simply ran, ignoring the sharp pain in his side and allowing Shane to shove him into the Jeep. He squeezed his eyes shut when Shane finally got into the driver's side, breathing a sigh of relief when he peeled out and sped into the night.

"You okay, bud?" Shane asked in a hard voice, shooting him a glance. "I see blood. What happened?"

Daryl looked down to confirm his suspicions. The bolt he'd meant to load into his crossbow was now protruding from his side. He'd fallen on it when the fence went down and it hurt like  _hell_ , but he didn't think it was too bad of an injury.

"Just a flesh wound," Daryl muttered, trying to decide whether or not to pull the thing out. He couldn't leave it in there forever, of course. "Not bit," he added, sensing Shane's anxiety. The man visibly relaxed, but when he glanced over, his eyes went wide.

" _Jesus_ , Daryl! You've got an arrow stickin' out'a ya!" he exclaimed, slamming on the breaks and making to reach for the wound. Daryl drew away, growling under his breath.

"Quit that!" he snapped, batting Shane's hands away. "Leave it be. Deal with it once we get the stuff to the kid."

"You gotta get Hershel to check that out, man," Shane said darkly, putting the Cherokee back in drive and lurching down the road again. "Can't lose anyone else right now. 'Specially not our able-bodied men."

"Who'd feed ya?" Daryl muttered, too quietly for Shane to catch. He stared out the window and tried to pretend he wasn't in pain. He wanted to ask Shane whether he thought it would be a good idea to try and take the bolt out, but he was afraid of the answer. Besides, he didn't need advice from that idiot. So he left the bolt in until Shane turned down the dirt road that led up to the farm. He could see Lori waiting anxiously on the porch and suddenly decided he'd rather these people not see him with such a stupid injury.

Daryl took a deep breath and yanked the bolt out, just barely able to conceal his yelp. Shane still looked at him when he gasped, though.

"Are you --"

"M'fine," Daryl snapped, pressing his hands down on the wound. "Not so bad as it looks. Leave me be."

"I swear, if you go and die on us, redneck..."

"Not gonna die."

"Better not," he said severely.

Daryl wondered at the logic of his threat but soon decided it didn't matter, as he would not be dying anytime soon. "I'll take care of it. Had worse."

Shane nodded sharply and parked behind the RV. He got out first, taking both bags with him, and absorbed the majority of the group's attention. When he got out, no one said much to him but a few harried 'thank you's. Daryl was glad they were all focused on Carl and seemed to take the blood coating his side as normal residue from a walker fight. He slipped away from the house, leaving Shane behind to answer any questions, and stalked toward the RV. Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn, and Dale looked up at him when he threw open the flimsy metal door.

He  _really_ didn't want to deal with this right now.

"How'd it go?" Andrea demanded at once. Daryl gave a noncommittal grunt -- he knew his voice would crack if he tried to speak -- and shuffled to the back, where he kept his tent stowed during travel. It took some digging, but he heaved it out from under the bed and, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side, turned to leave. He was displeased but not entirely surprised to see Andrea blocking his path, staring at him with an almost accusing look in her eyes.

"Did you get the stuff?" she persisted, standing in the hall and folding her arms over her chest. Daryl didn't understand why she had that severe look on her face. She was  _glaring_ at him, like she  _knew_. But she didn't know. She was just glaring at him, and that pissed him off. He really didn't like her.

"Get out of my way," he snapped, baring his teeth at the woman and then feeling silly for doing so. Still, the gesture was not lost on her, and the harpy backed down with one last withering glare.

"You don't have to be such and ass," she hissed as he pushed by her. "There's a kid dying, you know."

He did know. He'd just sacrificed a man for that kid.

"An't nobody gonna die," he snarled. He was facing her again without memory of turning around, his hands balled so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms. " _Nobody_ is gonna die!" he repeated. "The hell is wrong with you people? Just wishin' everythin' dead like we ain't already the last people around. Jesus. Sick, the lot'a ya."

He paused, catching up with his temper and reigning it in. "Am I the only one  _zen_ around here?"

Nobody answered, and Daryl scoffed at their shocked expressions, pretending he didn't feel silly for using that word.  _Zen_. He wasn't some kind of hippy. Uncomfortable with all the eyes on him, Daryl shuffled away, wishing his side didn't hurt so much that he couldn't storm off the way he'd've liked. But they still let him go without another word, and that soothed his chagrin somewhat. Even if he knew they're start muttering about him the second he was out of hearing range. The thought made Daryl do some muttering himself, mostly about Andrea's stupidity and that old man's meddlesome ways. He muttered about T-Dog a little bit, too. He still hadn't forgiven the man for losing his brother.

He decided Glenn didn't need to be mutter about at the moment.

"You're hurt."

Daryl squinted at the girl who'd just stepped in front of him. What was she doing out here alone in the dark? He almost asked her if her momma knew she was out here, but stopped himself at the last second, remembering that she was  _lost_. _  
_

"Wha'ch'ya doin' out here, kid?" he snapped, brushing past her and moving toward the little grove of shady tree in front of Hershel's house, where some of the others had set up their tents.

"Lookin' for you," she replied in an easy voice. "You're bleeding a lot."

He tried to think of something to say to that. It ended up being hard to concentrate with the pain in his side and his mind on the tent. It wasn't like any tent he'd ever had before, and the poles and notches were all pretty confusing, especially to his pain-hazed mind. But he still started setting it up, struggling a bit to move his left arm because it pulled so harshly at his wound.

"Maybe you should get that looked at before you try putting up a tent," Sophia suggested. She sounded worried.

"Maybe you should shut up and mind your own damn business."

She didn't flinch.

"Do you want some help?" she asked after a moment.

"Don't need any  _help_ , ya stupid brat. Go find someone else to piss off."

She didn't, though. She stayed and watched him struggle with the poles, and though Daryl made a point of not looking at her, he  _knew_ she was staring at him with her watery blue eyes. He imagined that they probably glowed in the night and then tried to remember whether or not he'd looked in her eyes when he'd found her in that tree. It'd been dark, and surely, if they glowed, he'd've seen it then, right?

But he wasn't sure he'd looked too closely at her eyes. They'd been unsettling to him, even then. They probably hadn't glowed, though. He was just being stupid. The girl tended to make him think things like that, though. Stupid things. Stupid girl.

"What do you want, girl?" he gasped, turning to face her and trying to pretend the pain wasn't making his vision blurry.

She didn't answer him, and he finally looked into her eyes. They weren't glowing. The moonlight made them look darker than he remembered.

"Just a scratch," he muttered, turning back to his tent. "Be just fine, girl. Don't worry."

"Are you sure I can't help?"

He thought about snapping at her again. Apparently, he thought about it too long, because she moved forward before he'd decided how to answer, and when she started putting the tent together on the other side, he decided to let her. He ignored the fumbling motions of her hands and the way her face was screwed up in confusion. What did it matter if she didn't know how to put it up? He didn't know any better. They'd figure it out.

Or she would. Because a few minutes later, all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and try to breath even.

"Mister Dixon?"

Her voice came from the end of a long tunnel, and he wasn't going to pass out because just look what'd happened  _last_ time. He tried to open his eyes, tried to answer her with a strangled " _whaaaa...._?" And he could feel her hands on his side, and he tried to bat her away but it was almost like someone was holding down his arms, or perhaps he just didn't  _have_ arms, and the thought made him laugh but it came out as a choke.

"There's a hole in your side," she said quietly. He knew that. "It's bleeding a lot." Her tone suggested she wasn't pleased about it.

"Leave it alone," he slurred, finally managing to push her hands away. "Don' getch'er hands dirty."

She was  _pushing_ him. He forced his eyes open and struggled against her, but she was persistent. Maybe he could've resisted her, but at the moment, he just lost sight of the point. Sophia didn't want to hurt him. Her pushing might be annoying as hell, but what was she gonna do to him? He let her, and when the backs of his knees hit something solid, he fell into the lawn chair with a gasp of pain.

"Stay here," she said in a voice that was shaky but also strangely firm. "And don't die or anything, okay?"

"M'fine. Quite fussin' at me," he snapped.

"Please?"

"No gonna die, 'Phia. Jesus."

She stared at him for a few more seconds before turning on her heel and rushing toward the house. Daryl swore under his breath and pressed his hand to the wound again. He should've been doing that already. Why the hell had he tried to set up the tent so soon? Merle was right. Sometimes he was so  _stupid_. Had to be bossed around by a little girl before he realized he was hurting himself. Lord, what would his brother say if he'd seen that?

Daryl tried not to think about it, but Merle's voice rang out clear as day.

_Kinda man are ya, baby brother? How'd ya manage to fall on your own arrow? Did I raise up an idiot?_

He could see the way his brother would sneer and snarl, but he knew that Merle would've taken care of him, too. That was what brothers did, and Merle might not've been the best of them, but Daryl was used to that. He'd never had the best of anything.

"Daryl?" He grit his teeth at the sound of Shane's voice. He'd had enough of the man for one day. Hell, he'd had enough of  _everyone_ for one day. "Hey, y'alright, man? Everything okay?"

Weakly, he raised his middle finger at the maniac. The answering laugh only made his frown deeper.

"Yeah, you're alright," Shane chuckled. "Carl's gonna be okay, too. But let's get that side looked at, huh? Can't let anything bad happen to you."

"Said m'fine," he growled, bristling when he felt Shane moving closer. His eyes flashed open when he realized they were closed. "Leave me be. Just need t'rest."

"Just lemme look at it, man. Can't do any harm, can it?"

"Leave me be," Daryl repeated, meaning the words to come out firm but hearing them more as a pained whine.

"Don't make me get some help and have you held down, Dixon," Shane warned, his voice sharp with impatience and anxiety. Daryl had to remind himself not to poke the bear. He lifted his hand and tried not to growl when Shane moved forward, strange hands pushing and prodding at his hurt side. He could hear the man's exasperated sigh and found himself wanting to expel a similar noise. He  _knew_ only bad could come of Shane wanting to see. "Man, you know this'll need stitches," Shane said gently.

Yeah, he knew. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

"I told you it was bad," Sophia said, resting her chin on the arm of his chair. She was kneeling beside him, her eyes filled with an odd mixture of sadness and relief. "But you're gonna be okay. Hershel can help you as soon as he's done helping Carl."

Shane chuckled again. "Yeah, you'll be just fine. This ain't life threatening or nothin'. It can wait a little bit while we get Carl patched up," he rambled on. "But  _man_ , did you scare us. Came out here with you lookin' whiter'n death. Thought we'd already gone, man."

"M' _fine_ ," he said for the millionth time that day. "Jesus. You people are crazy."

Sophia giggled.

"Alright, I'll be back to check on you in a bit. Sit tight, man. Rest a little," Shane said firmly, moving back toward the house. Sophia remained by his side, her chin still resting on the arm of the chair and her eyes still boring into him.

"Quit starin' at me," he said tiredly, shutting his eyes so that he couldn't see whether or not she kept at it. He could still feel her eyes on him, but it might've been his imagination.

"I wish I were like you," she said softly. "I wish I was strong and brave."

Unbidden, Daryl's mouth spat out sleepy words. "Y' _are_ strong and brave. Saved my life, remember?" Her silence was easy enough to read, even with his eyes closed. "Your momma would be proud, wouldn't she? That you went out lookin' for her with a hurt ankle."

"I'm not strong like you," she insisted. "You know everything about the forest and how to survive. I wish I was like that. I wish I could get a big, gaping hole in my side and still think I could put up a tent. I wish I could go out into the forest and not worry I was about to die. I wish I didn't have to be afraid."

He shifted uncomfortably, knowing those ever-present tears would be dripping down her nose by now. He hated it when girls cried. It drove him crazy, and while he'd always have liked to make them stop, he didn't quite know how. He usually ended up making it worse one way or another.

"Why don't you go and find Dale?" he suggested, knowing the older man would be better at calming her down. Daryl might not get along with him, but he was good with people. Good with emotions.

Daryl was not.

But Sophia shook her head -- he could feel her cheek brush against his arm -- and pressed her hand into his. "No, I wanna stay with you," she insisted. "We're friends, now. I have to make sure you're okay."

"Who said we're friends?" Daryl snapped, pretending he didn't feel a little bit honored by the notion.

"I said we are," she said firmly, reaching for his hand again when he pulled it away. "We're gonna be friends, and you're gonna teach me how to be like you."

"You don't wanna be like me, girl," he grumbled, snatching his hand away once more. "Don't think your momma would appreciate that either."

She didn't have to say it for him to know what she was thinking.


	6. An insistence on bedrest (belonging to everyone but him)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl is forced to rest and gets company, some expected and some not.

Daryl wasn't allowed to move around much for the next few days. Hershel had been out the night before -- a fleck of Carl's blood still on his cheek -- to check over and then stitch up Daryl's wound. It hadn't been fun, but it also hadn't been his worst experience with medical personnel. He supposed it would be just like him to choose a vet as his preferred doctor. Hadn't Merle always said he acted like a wild animal when injured? (Of course, Merle was just being an ass. Daryl was perfectly civilized. He just tended to growl when people came at him with needles while he was already in pain. And so what if Hershel's soft cooing had gotten him to settle down? That didn't mean anything, even if it was the same trick he used on injured dogs.)

Really, Hershel had told him not to leave his tent. After trying that for a few minutes, Daryl had heaved himself off his back and wandered outside, looking for something to do. He'd pulled at his stitches a little bit, but it hadn't bled through his bandage, so he figured things were mostly intact for the time being. Still, he was careful not to move too quickly or do anything too strenuous. Sure, he'd had his eye on the dwindling wood pile the night before, but it'd only taken a curious glance from Lori for him to set down the ax and look for something else to occupy himself with.

But he was useless at setting up the fiddly tents that most of the group tended to use, so he hadn't even bothered asking Glenn if he'd needed help in that department. And although he wasn't adverse to doing a little laundry, he wasn't sure Lori would want him handling her clothes. He thought -- for a moment -- about going to see if Shane or Rick had anything for him to do, but he didn't want to act like he was sitting around, waiting for their orders. He wasn't. He just didn't like sitting around, and if they had something he could get done then he wanted to  _do it._ But it wasn't as though they'd see it that way, and so Daryl kept silent. He sat in Glenn's camp chair and glowered at the fire, over which Lori was roasting a rabbit  _he_ hadn't shot.

"Just gonna sit there and stare all day?" Lori asked after a while, sounding amused.

"Ain't staring atchya, woman," he grumbled, shifting so that he could set his chin in his hand.

"No, but you  _are_ staring," she said lightly. "You should be resting, you know."

"What's it look like I'm doin'? Jumping jacks?"

Lori rolled her eyes. Daryl was always pleased to get that reaction out of her.

"I mean you should be in your tent, lying down. We'll do fine out here on our own, you know," she said earnestly. "We all appreciate what you've been doing for us, but you need to take a rest."

Daryl squinted at her, wondering where all this favor had come from. He'd never interacted with her much aside from her thanking him for bringing dead animals to her and Carol, but he sure as hell remembered all the disdainful glares in between. It'd never bothered him much coming from her. She was a mother and a housewife, and he didn't expect her to be anything but shocked and appalled by him and Merle. He was a little more concerned with her sudden soft smiles and kind words, forced to recall how quickly she seemed to jump from one man to another.

Lori must've caught his expression. Her smile faded and turned abruptly into a firmer look. The one she wore when she told Carl to stay close to camp. "We need you around, Daryl. You rest up so you can find Carol, too. God, don't let that girl lose her mother, and don't let me become the only sane woman around here...."

He decided that she didn't need to know what he thought about her sanity, but he wasn't sure he wanted to stand for her telling him what to do.

"Whatever," he muttered.

"We sure appreciate you going out there and saving Sophia, you know," she insisted. He wondered if he should tell her the rabbit was burning.

"Actually,  _I_ saved  _him_ , Missus Grimes," Sophia piped up, doing her usual trick of stepping out of thin air. The girl didn't weigh nearly enough if she could sneak up on Daryl without even trying. "Isn't that right, Mister Dixon?"

"Don't call me that," he warned, his eyes sweeping over her tiny frame. Her scratches were healing and her eyes were drier than usual. He decided she could stand to take a little heat. "How many times I gotta tell ya that b'fore you start listening to me?"

"What's she talking about, Daryl?" Lori asked, preventing Sophia from answering his question and changing the subject, as he'd meant it to. Her brown eyes were fixed on him with something a little like suspicion and a lot like amusement. A ragged sigh escaped him when he realized he wasn't going to get out of spilling the secret. If you could even call it a secret.

"Was lookin' for 'em in the woods. Heard the girl screamin' and followed the sound. Three walkers. Got two down, third got me down. 'Phia stabbed it in the head with my knife," he grumbled. Lori's shocked look was worth the story, as was Sophia's proud smile. He figured she could have her pride. She'd done alright. "She's a good girl. Course, she'll do better after a bit of trainin' up."

He wasn't sure why he'd said that, but her blinding smile might've had something to do with it. "You're gonna teach me how to be like you?" she whispered, and her eyes didn't glow, but they did  _something_.

"Yeah, I'll teach ya, kid," he muttered, biting at his thumbnail. "Mind, your momma ain't gonna be happy with me when we find her. But if you wanna be strong and brave, I ain't gonna stop ya."

Sophia moved to his side and dropped to her knees again, resting her chin on the arm of Glenn's chair like she'd done the night before.

"Thank you Mister Dixon," she said earnestly. "My mom will thank you, too, one day."

Daryl ignored the hated title and focused instead on the second statement, steeling himself to look into her eyes. "One day soon," he promised, putting on his best glare to combat the familiar resignation in her eyes. This time, he was willing. He was waiting. He wasn't going to let her brush him off. He couldn't stand knowing she thought Carol was dead.

For once, Sophia was the first one to look away, not a word of protest on her lips. But Daryl knew better than to think she wasn't doubting him. He caught her chin as she turned away and forced her to look at him, feeling anger twist at his insides as he saw the acceptance, the sadness.

"Hey!" he snarled, gritting his teeth to try and reign it in. It wasn't her fault. He had to remember that. "She ain't dead yet," he said flatly. "She ain't dead and I ain't gonna let ya be an orphan. Got it?" His fingers bit into her jaw. " _Got it_?" he repeated forcefully. She nodded -- as firmly as she was able with his hand restraining her. When he saw how restricted the movement was, he seemed to remember himself and quickly released her. It was a relief when she didn't immediately scramble away, but he still couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes again. He cleared his throat, feeling he had to say something to soften his words, soften the faint marks he'd left on her jaw. (Would they bruise?) "Ya can't lose hope," he muttered, biting at his thumbnail again. "Ya can't give up, neither. Carol's out there dependin' on us ta find her. To be _lookin_ ' for her, and ya can't look for somethin' you don't believe can be found. Not really."

A little whimper escaped the girl, and Daryl raised his eyes just in time to see tears running down her cheeks before she leaned forward and pushed her face against his upper arm, her tears dripping onto his bicep and running down his skin to tickle the inside of his elbow.

He let her cry.

Sophia was quiet, but Daryl could still hear her soft sniffles. He wondered if he was meant to do something other than sit there, but the idea was quickly put out of mind. Any more contact than her head on his arm, and he might have to bail. Besides, he had to control the growing urge to jump up out of his seat, not because of her crying but because of  _Carol_ , who was still out there all alone. Was  _anyone_ looking for her? Daryl hadn't seen Shane all day, but he could hardly believe the man would let a defenseless woman remain abandoned out there for long. The man had come to her aide, hadn't he? Daryl might not have been there, but he remembered walking into camp and seeing that someone had made a punching bag out of Ed Peletier's face.

Still, Daryl felt that Carol had been given up as a loss. The thought alone made him shift in his seat and dig his nails into his palms. If no one else was going to look, he needed to be  _out there_.

He suddenly felt very stupid for the injury in his side. After all, who fell on their own bolt? It was stupid. Ridiculous.

"She's taken to you pretty well," Lori murmured, reminding Daryl of her presence. He started at the sound of her voice and then quickly stilled when he realized Sophia was slumped against his chair, fast asleep. He was pretty impressed with the angle. Daryl'd slept in plenty of tight and uncomfortable places, but he wasn't sure he'd've been able to manage  _that_. "She didn't sleep well last night," Lori sighed. "Think she was worried about you."

"Ain't nothin' ta worry about," Daryl said, shifting uncomfortably at the thought. It didn't sit well with him to be worried after. It made him rankle at the girl's presence to think about it.

"Even so," she said with a little smile, setting a paper plate of rabbit on his knees. She perched on picnic table behind her and studied him carefully. "Carol would be happy to know her daughter was getting along okay."

"We'll see when she gets back," he replied, biting at his nail once more.

"Why are you being so good to her?"

"Girl just lost her mother. How else should I be?"

Lori waved her hand impatiently. "That's not what I mean. You don't  _have_ to let her follow you around the way you have been. We've all seen how uncomfortable it makes you. Why did you agree to teach her when you know you'll be grittin' your teeth the whole time?" she chuckled.

"Cause she wants to learn," he said with a tiny shrug, careful not to jostle the sleeping girl.

"That doesn't mean you have to teach her," Lori pointed out. Daryl glared at her.

"Yes it does," he insisted, pausing when Sophia found a more comfortable position before settling again. "We could be all that's left out here. Got a duty to each other. 'Phia wants to learn, we gotta teach her. And since no one else knows what they're doin', s'gotta be me."

"We are  _not_ the last ones," she said calmly, her eyes widening slightly as the thought took hold of her.

"Don't matter," Daryl muttered around him thumb. "We might as well be, for all the trouble other people are causin' us. 'Sides, we only got each other now, and I want someone useful watchin' while I sleep."

"So that's what this is? You're doing this to save your own back?" she countered, setting her hands on her hips.

"The hell you want me to say, woman?" Daryl grunted, pulling his thumb away from his mouth to glare at her. "We  _could_ be the last ones, and that means we gotta do the best we can to keep each other alive. That means teachin' 'Phia to survive, goin' out to look for Carol, and grittin' my teeth while this thing drools on my arm. Can't do nothin' but abide each other and try not to let anyone else die because we were too stubborn or stupid to set things aside and  _help_."

Lori tilted her head to the side and stared at him for a long moment. To his horror, he saw tears start to fall from her doe eyes.

He let her cry.

 

Daryl wouldn't call it a nap. He'd never been able to sleep in the open with too many people around and this time had been no different. But he  _had_ closed his eyes and let his mind wander, and it had eventually led to a sluggish sort of rest that was somewhere just between sleeping and wakefulness. It had ended real fast when Shane came stomping back into camp, and Daryl'd cracked an eye to watch as he approached the waning campfire and snorted when he caught sight of Sophia cuddled up next to Daryl's chair.

She'd moved to a comfier position on the ground, one arm twisted around Daryl's left ankle and the other tucked into her chest. Her side was trapping his left foot while her head rested on his right shoe.

He wondered when that'd happened.

"Since when did you turn into Santa Claus, redneck?" Shane muttered, clearly not aware Daryl was conscious.

"Do I look jolly to you, Walsh?"

Rick laughed, coming along beside Shane to take in the scene. "Looks like Carl has to find a new best friend when he's back on his feet," he said to his partner. Daryl felt alarm bells ring in his ears when Shane simply glowered at the man before stalking away. Daryl knew all too well what happened when you got on Shane's bad side, and while he wasn't scared of Shane... he hadn't stolen Shane's girlfriend.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself not to think about it. That nothing but a headache ever came from thinking about the Rick-Shane-Lori thing.

"Mommy?" Sophia yawned, swaying slightly as she pushed herself up.

"Not yet," Rick said gently, kneeling down (a little too close for Daryl's liking) and setting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "We've been out looking all day, though. We'll probably find her tomorrow on the other side of the creek. Got too dark to keep going today, but we'll be out again at first light."

Daryl narrowly prevented himself from scoffing. That would only encourage Sophia's doubts, and Rick was trying. That had to be enough for now, while he was still laid up in bed. Chair.

That still didn't stop him from doubting the guy. He'd been okay since the Atlanta incident, aside from losing Carol, and did a good job of balancing out Shane's psychotic tendencies. But Daryl still held a bit of a grudge against him for the way things had gone down at the quarry, and he wasn't about to trust a man that had left his brother handcuffed on a roof, no matter how much Merle had brought it on himself.

"Can I go?" Sophia asked. Daryl chuckled when he saw Rick twitch under her unnerving gaze.

"Sorry, sweetie, but I think it's best if you stay here," Rick chuckled, unabashed. "We need you to take care of Daryl."

Daryl grit his teeth, irritated at the whole situation, but just managed to hold his tongue. Sophia had no such qualms. "Well, okay," she said with a little nod. "Just until he's feeling better, though. Then we'll go out and find her." Her tone left no room for correction, and when Rick opened his mouth anyway, Sophia turned her fiber-glass gaze to him. "Right, Mister Dixon?" she pleaded.

"Fine," he grumbled, ignoring Rick's meaningful look. He pushed himself to his feet and escaped toward his tent, wondering when he'd get another day to himself. The answer, he conceded, was very clear.

Merle always said it'd take the end of the world for Daryl to become a social person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter?


	7. A name, not his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl's hatred of being called "Mister Dixon" is more thoroughly explored.

Daryl stretched, testing his mobility, and found that he could only feel the slightest twinge when his healing muscles and skin were pulled taught.

"Thanks doc," he said in a voice that just barely passed as cheerful. He hopped off the kitchen counter, his lip curling into an unconscious snarl when he saw the discarded black threads that had just come out of his flesh. But soon enough, they were out of mind, and Daryl was walking the woods once again. He could hardly help the slight grin on his face, despite the grim task at hand. It didn't really matter, though. Sophia was the only one around, and she couldn't see his face.

The girl seemed happy to be out, herself. Daryl had wondered whether or not she'd still want to go with him when he'd gone in to get her and discovered her sitting at Carl's bedside. (Doc had finally decided Carl could have a few visitors a day, after nearly two weeks of bedrest.) But she'd simply kissed his cheek and skipped after Daryl when he called, and he'd tried not to feel like the baddest cat around when she'd skidded to a halt in front of him and looked up at him with bright, expectant eyes. He could really get used to that. It was about damn time these people started showing him some respect. (He pretended he wasn't awed and confused by it.)

And in true Sophia form, the girl didn't utter so much as a peep for the first few hours of their search. Daryl had found, in the past few weeks of searching with her, that the girl preferred silence to chatter when in the woods. He could appreciate that, but there were some lessons he couldn't teach without offering some sort of explanation. He tended to leave those until the end of the day, so that Sophia could get her fill of the silence of the woods. _  
_

"Mister Dixon?" Sophia asked, an edge of excitement in her voice. A sharp glare from Daryl had her hanging her head. "Sorry. I keep forgetting."

"S'okay," he muttered, wishing it wasn't so easy to forgive her. There was very little he wouldn't forgive her, he thought shrewdly. She was, after all, his only friend in this world.

"How come you don't like to be called that?" she asked. By the tone of her voice, Daryl guessed she'd been wondering for quite some time, now. A month ago, he wouldn't snapped at her to mind her own business.

"Ain't like it's somethin' I'm proud of," he said instead, not meeting the girl's curious eyes. "Dixon was my daddy's name. Only thing he ever gave me, 'sides a healthy mistrust of drunks and a whole mess 'a scars. Who wants to think of that every time someone says their name? I'll just as soon just be Daryl, and even that comes with bad memories."

Sophia was quiet for a bit. Daryl finally lifted his eyes to her face, and was unsurprised to see the familiar thoughtful expression gracing her doll-like features. The same look she got after absorbing a particularly difficult lesson. Eventually, she gave an even nod, and uttered her usual response to grasping a previously unknown concept.

"I understand," she said, her voice slightly more solemn and a whole lot less triumphant than it usually was when she said the words. And Daryl didn't doubt it. The girl was sharp, after all. "My daddy wasn't very nice, either," she revealed, a little frown on her face. "But you probably know that. That's why you're so nice to me, isn't it? That's why you want to find my mom."

It would've been true if she'd asked a couple weeks ago.

"I'm nice to you 'cause we're friends," he said sharply, pretending he didn't feel stupid being friends with a little girl. "And we're lookin' for your ma cause she needs to be found."

"Best friends," Sophia insisted, smiling brightly. "What do I call you, then? Mister Daryl?"

"Why you gotta call me somethin'? Ain't like there's anyone else out here. Just say what you gotta say."

"Oh. Well, you missed these deer tracks," she said cheerfully, pointing to her left. "That's what I was going to tell you."

 

Daryl figured the rest of the group would've been pleased with the haul, but no one even batted an eye when he walked into camp with Sophia's buck slung over his shoulders. (He was certainly glad he'd gotten the stitches out that morning.) "Where is everyone?" he wondered aloud, dropping the deer next to Lori's makeshift kitchen and looking around the empty cluster of tents.

"Over there," Sophia murmured, pointing to the dilapidated barn. Sure enough, Daryl saw most of the group gathered there, Hershel and company included.

"Looks like they're hollerin' at each other," Daryl growled, irritated. "Probably Shane stirrin' up trouble again."

"He scares me a little bit," Sophia admitted, following after him as he started toward the confrontation.

"S'cause you're smart. And he's insane."

"But he's nice to you, isn't he?" _  
_

"Yeah. That's cause he's insane."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl trying to file that information away. When her usual declaration of her understanding didn't reach his ears, Daryl realized he was going to have to explain insanity and human nature to her just a little bit better. He couldn't have her putting her trust in people just because they were  _nice_. That was a fool thing to do, and he wasn't going to let Sophia become a fool.

Still, he didn't fancy giving her a firsthand lesson while he shouted down Shane.

"Stay back a bit, Scout," he said sternly, waving her behind him as they drew closer to the arguing. Sure enough, Shane was at the center of it all, shouting about walkers and Lori and Rick. Daryl stumbled back a bit when he caught sight of the former and latter. There was Rick, holding a snarling walker on the end of a pole. "What the hell is goin' on here?" he demanded, raising his crossbow and glancing back to make sure Sophia wasn't too close to the danger. She was still hovering a couple yards off, her face pale and worried.

"Rick and the farmer decided to fill the barn with walkers," Shane spat.

"You're crazy," Daryl snapped, disregarding the man. "Someone else answer."

"He's pretty much right," Andrea said dryly, looking absolutely miserable.

"You might be crazy, too. Rick? Glenn? T-Dog? Anyone with sanity still intact wanna explain this to me?" he asked, looking around at the three.

"Sorry, man," T-Dog said, sounding more angry than apologetic. "They pretty much hit the nail on the head. There are walkers in the barn. Hershel's been putting them there, and now Rick's helping him."

Shane gave a howl of rage and shot Rick's walker in the chest, still yelling and snarling. Truthfully, Daryl had always had a hard time understanding people when they yelled like that. Most of the time, he didn't bother trying to understand the words and just readied himself for the fight that was soon to follow. Although this time, it didn't look like Shane's quarrel was with him. He just kept shooting the walker, never hitting it in the head until Rick finally cut in, shouting the other man down. For a moment, it looked as though the argument was over.

That was when all hell broke loose. The barn door burst open, and walkers poured out of it in a thick stream.

Daryl heard Sophia's startled scream, but he couldn't afford to look back with everything that was happening right in front of him. "Grab my knife, stay behind me!" he commanded, firing bolt after bolt at everything that came close to him. He felt rather than saw Sophia lift his hunting knife shakily out of it's holster, but he didn't pay attention to that for long. The walkers were coming toward him faster than he could take them down, until, eventually, he pulled out his back-up knife and took them down that way.

He was covered in thick black blood by the time the last walker fell.

"Everyone alright?" Rick asked, his voice crackling with adrenaline.

"Dale!" Andrea cried.

Daryl didn't have to look to know what had happened. He turned away from the scene, squeezing his eyes shut. Without meaning to, he drifted to his knees. When he opened his eyes, he was face-to-face with Sophia.

"Y'okay, girl?" he asked gruffly, knowing already that nothing had touched her. He'd made sure of that. But the girl didn't answer him. She was looking at something over his shoulder, a stricken look on her face. "Don't watch," he said sharply, shaking his head. He grabbed her chin to try and turn her face away, but she scrabbled away from him, tears now wetting her cheeks. "Hey. 'Phia, listen --"

"No!" she gasped, her breaths coming sharp and uneven through her nose. "No! Momma, no!"

She pushed past him, dodging as he reached out to catch her arm. "Sophia!" he said sharply, shooting to his feet and spinning around to see where she was going. The girl sprinted away from him, quickly disappearing from sight once she got to the treeline. He was already after her when he heard Rick shouting his name, and for a moment, he couldn't get his legs to stop moving.

"Daryl! Stop!" Rick yelled again. He skidded to an uncertain halt, feeling bereft without the girl around. No, bereft because he didn't know where she was, or if he'd ever see her again. He didn't care how much she'd learned -- Daryl didn't want her in the woods on her own.

"What do you want?" he called hoarsely, glaring at Rick as the man jogged toward him. "I gotta -- she can't be out there alone too long..."

"Just wait a second, Daryl," Rick said gently, gesturing uselessly behind him. "Did you... did ya see what spooked her?"

Daryl knew, but he wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to acknowledge it until he absolutely had to.

"Man, leave me alone," he snapped, turning away from the stupid cop.

"Daryl, I think you need to see this!" Rick insisted.

"Don't need ta see nothing," he replied, already heading after Sophia once more. He could see her tracks clear as day, and he could tell she'd made an effort to keep her trail as obvious as possible. Sophia had learned a little  _too_ well how to conceal her passage for Daryl's liking. "'Phia!" He called into the woods, hoping she hadn't gone too far. "C'mon, Scout, don't do this..."

He followed her trail until it disappeared, and it took him only a few seconds before he breathed a sigh of relief and looked upward.

"Sophia..." Daryl began, faltering when he realized he didn't have anything to say. What did you say to a girl when her mother --

He wasn't going to think about that. He couldn't. Not yet.

"I told you," the girl gasped, trying to catch her breath and stop the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "I told you, didn't I? I know my mom. I know her. I  _knew_ she wouldn't... I told you."

Daryl stared up at her helplessly, mouth agape. He remembered sitting on his charred and blackened porch late into the night, waiting for his mother to appear.

"What made you think we could save her?" the girl muttered, shaking her head. "Some people... some people can't be saved."

He remembered the warm arms of his neighbor, lifting him off the ground. " _Everything's gonna be okay, Daryl_." She'd said it again and again until it had pounded in his ears like a drum. Like a second heartbeat.

"I tried to tell you."

Everyone had tried to tell him. Merle, his daddy, their neighbor. That firewoman, the librarian, his teacher... They'd all told him she was dead, and he'd kept on looking, anyway. Nothing else had made sense.

"Aren't you gonna say something?" Sophia sniffled, looking down at him with tear-filled eyes. Daryl barely had the energy to shake his head, let alone offer consoling words. He felt that familiar ache in his chest -- the one that had dulled over the years but was suddenly as sharp as it had been when he was a boy. That feeling of  _missing_ something that hadn't disappeared when he'd realized he'd never had it in the first place.

Silently, Sophia held out her arms, and Daryl could do nothing but catch her when she slipped out of the tree and into his arms. She held onto him, arms around his neck and sharp knees squeezing his sides. Daryl didn't care. He set his cheek against her tangled blonde hair and pretended she was the only one crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of short. It's winding down.


	8. A Sorrow, no longer his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the group deals with loss, some better than others.

There were very few memories that Daryl had trouble forgetting, when he wanted to. Over the years, he'd learned how to block out the unpleasant times and focus on whatever kind of bright side he could find in the moment. But there were some thing that he would forever see with perfect clarity. The day of the fire was one of them. Finding Merle's hand was another.

But watching Sophia grieve for her mother was by far the worst. When Daryl finally succeeded in coaxing Sophia back to camp, they were still cleaning up after the incident. Daryl, still holding Sophia in his arms, had tried to steer them away from the scene. Of course, the girl was too stubborn for that, and she'd slipped out of his arms and skittered away before he'd been able to protest.

When he reached her, the girl was kneeling beside Carol's body, and Daryl stared along with her, taking in the woman's mangled remains. "Here," Sophia choked, touching her fingers to the open wound on her mother's ankle. "This is where she was bitten." And her fingers came away bloody, but she didn't seem to care. "This is what killed her," she said clearly, calmly. And she stroked Carol's cheek, she kissed her yellowed forehead, stroked thin fingers through the dead woman's bloody hair.

Daryl simply nodded at her words, unable to stop thinking about how  _dead_ Carol looked. She was not beautiful anymore. She was not sweet-looking. Her dark eyes didn't sparkle with maternal warmth, didn't flash with fear. She looked like a monster. Like a walker. He didn't want to look at her anymore, but he would stay until Sophia had looked her fill. The girl was made out of stronger stuff than him, that was for damn sure.

"Oh, God," Sophia choked, wiping her eyes. "God, please let her have died fast."

Daryl remembered his father saying the same thing. Long ago. Too long for Daryl to remember the exact context. But it ha been about his mother, no doubt.

Sophia looked up at him, eyes begging him for something he couldn't quite name. An explanation? Comfort? For him to bring Carol back to life? He wasn't sure how to go about any of those things, and the girl seemed to realize it after a moment. She stood and reached for his hand, and he Daryl just let her, not caring that the group would see. They could think whatever they wanted about him.

Sophia took one last look before hiding her face in his side, a desperate whimper escaping her.

"C'mon," Daryl urged, pulling her away from the barn. "We're in the way."

Sophia allowed herself to be led away, but when he tried to leave her with Lori, she put her foot down.

"Stay," she insisted, hanging onto his hand with both of hers.

"I gotta help over there," he tried to explain. "With the digging." He didn't want to be more specific than that. He couldn't be.

"Someone else can --"

"It has to be me," he said firmly, managing to pry his hand away only to have the other caught in her grasp. He sighed, wondering how the girl had come to have so much power over him.

"I didn't think it would hurt so much," she whimpered, struggling to keep her voice from shaking. "I thought I'd already cried for her."

He gave another ragged sigh and dropped into Glenn's chair, decided he would tolerate her clinging for a little longer.

 

It was well after dusk when they'd dug graves for all the important people. Hershel's wife and son were to be buried right next to Carol, under the shade of a giant oak tree. It was a pretty spot, but Daryl was sure the location had been chosen for the shade it offered those who had been digging the graves. No one had to know that.

He stood aside while the others spoke, feeling a little bad about being so far away. He'd chosen the spot without thinking of Sophia, who stood beside him the entire time. They were outside the loose circle of survivors, holding their own silent vigil.

"Sophia?" Rick called softly, looking around at the girl. "Did you want to say something for your mom?"

Tentatively, the girl stepped forward, pausing only to look back at Daryl. He soon followed after her, seeing that he was holding her back. They squeezed in between Maggie and Carl, looking at the three mounds of red earth.

"My mom was scared," she said softly, causing the group to hold their breaths so as not to miss a word of it. "She was scared her whole life. There were so many bad things out there, and they all came to get her, it seemed like. And she tried her best not to let it get to me. She was such a good mom. She all she ever wanted was for me to be safe. That's what scared her the most, I think. That something would happen to me." Sophia leaned into Daryl's side, wiping her tears on his filthy shirt. "She doesn't have to be scared anymore."

Hershel's other daughter made a soft sound under her breath, but nobody spoke. Daryl found himself clearing his throat.

"Ain't never met a stronger woman than Carol," he said flatly, trying not to see anyone's face. "Didn't know her well or for long, but anyone could see what she went though. How much it took to keep goin' and be strong for her little girl. The world made a fighter out of someone who shouldn't've had to fight. She don't have to fight anymore."

At this, the youngest Greene girl made another choked sound. Daryl remembered that she'd lost her mother, too. The atmosphere was heavy with loss. One by one, the others drifted away, until only Daryl and Sophia stood in front of the three graves, alone and in the dark.

"She tried so hard for me," Sophia said softly, kneeling down and sinking her fingers into the loose dirt. "She tried so hard to live. I didn't understand when I was little, but I could tell it was different for her. We don't have to think about it. We're alive until we're not anymore, you know? But sometimes, I think my mom had to force herself to be alive."

Daryl wondered if his mother had been the same way. He couldn't remember that far back.

"It was getting better. After my dad died, you know. But it broke her heart, too."

"Sometimes you can't help who you love," Daryl offered weakly. Sophia looked up at him, eyes sharp.

"Sometimes," she agreed reluctantly. "But I've decided, now. I don't love my dad. I don't want to be a Peletier, either. You and me are in a club, now. The no-name club. Or maybe, someday, we can find our own names. But if you don't have to use your dad's name anymore, neither do I. Okay?"

Daryl nodded. "Okay," he repeated, something washing over him at the word. He said it again. Firmly. More resolute. "Okay."

"Good," Sophia said fiercely, looking down at the grave again. "If she were here... she'd be happy for me. For us."

Daryl nodded again, even though she wasn't looking. For all her bravado, he could still see her shoulders shaking, her body wracked by silent tears. He knew she wasn't trying to hide it. Sophia cried when she wanted to and didn't think twice about who saw or what they thought. It was something Daryl had learned to tolerate. Maybe even to respect. He'd never been good at dealing with crying girls, but seeing Sophia in tears made him realized there wasn't much he had to do. She was crying because she wanted to cry, and not so that he'd do something about it.

There were days when he was very much in awe of her, and today had been one of them. Without a doubt.

"Oh, God," Sophia said again. "This is it. I'm all that's left." She brought her muddy hands up to wipe her eyes, stopping just short of actually doing so. Daryl passed her his bandana. There wasn't much else he could do. "Oh God," she repeated, whispering now. "What am I going to do? I'm just a little kid. It's the end of the world and my whole family is dead."

She'd stopped crying. She sat in the dirt before him, quietly lamenting her fate. It was almost as if she'd forgotten he was there.

"Hey," he said in a croaky voice, kneeling down beside her. "You ain't alone. I promised I wouldn't let you be an orphan, remember?" Sophia stared at him with glassy eyes, lips parted in despair. She was the picture of mourning and loss. "Look, kid, I might not have been able to save your ma, but I made a promise, okay? I'unno if I can make up for everything ya lost, but I can try. We'll stick together, you and me. We'll find our own name, remember? We'll be a family. You ain't alone."

She twisted the bandana in her hands, staring up at him uncertainly. To his surprise, a little smile flickered across her face.

"Does that mean I call you Mister Daddy, now?" she sniffled, clearly amused by the idea.

"I'unno about that," he muttered, plucking his bandana out of her hands and wiping the tears off her face. "I ain't anyone's dad. You and me have had enough of dads, if you ask me."

Sophia nodded seriously. "I don't want another one," she admitted. "Never again."

Daryl ran though his list of family members and found he didn't have a positive connotation assigned to any of them. Even the word 'brother' made him cringe. He'd loved Merle, but it hadn't been good for him. "We'll get around to it," he said with a shrug, standing and pulling Sophia to her feet with him. "No point in worrying about it right now."

And there wasn't. It was enough that they were there, together.

 

Daryl cringed as he listened to Lori and Carl's conversation. It was late, and he and Sophia were the only ones still sitting around the fire. The rest of the group had retreated to their tents, but not all of them were asleep. Despite the thin layer of fabric and careful whispers, Daryl could hear every word.

He was glad Sophia didn't need someone to explain suicide to her, because Carl was asking some hard questions on the topic.

"I don't get it, mom. Why wouldn't Beth want to live anymore?"

He could see Sophia's face in the firelight, twisted into a sad grimace as she tried not to listen to the answer. He'd been surprised by the girl's reaction to Beth's suicide attempt. The girl had been  _angry_ , and the fire had twisted in her eyes as Daryl explained the situation.

"She doesn't  _get_ to give up," Sophia had growled. Gone was the gentle understanding from her eyes. "I lost just as much as her. We don't just get to  _give up_. She's had it  _easy_ here!"

Daryl thought she was being unfair. He didn't exactly approve of the choice, but these were hard times. Beth  _had_ had it easy, and her happy bubble had been shattered rather abruptly. But Sophia hadn't wanted to listen to Daryl's opinion on the matter. He suspected she was thinking more of her mother than Beth, anyway. He didn't ask, though.

Eventually, Lori and Carl's voices drifted away.

"Sounds like they're done in there," Daryl murmured, standing and stretching. "You should get some sleep."

Daryl watched her retreat into the Grimes tent before slipping into his own. He needed to sleep, too. It had been a long few days of worrying, for them. Going after Hershel had taken more energy than it should have, and he was still reeling after having to shoot that kid stuck on the fence. It had been the right thing to do, though. Rick was nuts, trying to save the boy. He was on the other side, and he was pretty much dead already. He wouldn't dwell on it, just as he hadn't been dwelling on the loss of Dale.

They'd lost so many. Merle, Amy, Jim, Jacqui, and now Carol and Dale. They'd almost lost Beth, and even if Daryl didn't know the girl, it weighed heavily on his mind. She was so young. Too young to be so ready to give up on the world. And yet, Daryl didn't blame her. Couldn't find it in him to blame her. He wondered if Andrea had been right to give her the knife. The choice.

Sophia clearly didn't share her opinion. Daryl understood that, too.

A sudden shout drew Daryl out of his head. "Walkers!" Glenn cried from somewhere outside. If he was shouting, drawing them closer, Daryl knew the situation must be bad. Besides, there was something about the panic in Glenn's voice that nearly made him panic, too. But he didn't. He snatched up his crossbow and burst out of his tent, only one thought on his mind:

"Sophia!"


	9. His girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl loses pretty much everything, except what matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can sort of consider this an epilogue, if you like.

It had been chaos. Pure and utter chaos. His first instinct had been to grab Sophia and  _run_ , but Glenn had needed help.

Daryl closed his eyes as he remembered how close the kid had come to death. He was sure he'd prevented it, then, but they'd gotten separated real quick after that. Who knew what had happened afterward?

There was gunfire. A lot of it. Daryl had been reluctant to fire too many bolts. He had a limited supply, and he never knew when he might need on in a pinch. He'd been using his back-up knife -- he'd never gotten his favorite back from Sophia -- and when he'd turned back to tell Glenn they had to find the girl, he'd been gone. After that, Daryl had run into Lori, who was frantically searching for Carl. Together, the two had battled through the hoards, looking for the lost children. He'd made sure not to lose sight of her.

"Daryl?" Lori asked gently, setting her hand on his shoulder.

They'd never found Carl, but that didn't mean the boy was dead. They hadn't caught sight of Rick or Shane, either, but he  _knew_ that those two had made it. He couldn't imagine a walkers -- or even fifty walkers -- getting the best of them.

"What's wrong with him?" Beth asked, her voice high and panicked.

They'd run in to Beth just in time to save her. She'd been standing in the middle of the yard, crying as she fought, and Daryl had though she was another young blond, for a moment. Of course, it had only taken a second for him to recognize her for who she was. They'd snatched her up anyway and dragged her along with them.

"We have to go."

Daryl opened his eyes and looked down at the doll-like girl in front of him. He'd found her backed against the house, slashing wildly at the walkers gathered around her with his knife in hand. He'd nearly had a heart attack when he'd seen her go down. But he'd stabbed the walker on top of her anyway, and she'd been no worse for wear when he pulled her to her feet. In fact, she'd been smiling a weak but grateful smile. Her greeting was still ringing in his ears.  _Now we're even_.

"Daryl," Lori repeated, pulling on his arm. "Come on! We have to get out of here! We're not far enough away!"

Daryl blinked rapidly, looking around as if he'd forgotten where he was. For a moment, he had. He'd been back at the farm, watching Sophia fight for her life. If he didn't do something soon, they might be repeating the whole ordeal.

"This way," he said sharply, surging forward once more. They were moving through the darkening trees, their footsteps loud and crashing in the night.

"Are we going the right way?" Beth pleaded, small and scared.

"There  _is_ no right way," Daryl muttered. "There's only  _away from here_."

 

Morning found them at the edge of the woods, miles away from Hershel's farm. Daryl honestly wasn't sure if it was the same highway they'd been on before discovering the place. The night before had been so confusing. He'd barely had time to grab his crossbow, let alone plot an escape route. He'd dragged the three into the forest behind him and hadn't stopped until he could no longer hear the groans of the dead. Then they'd gone further out, twisted and turning to avoid stray packs of walkers.

For the first time in a long time, Daryl had no idea where he was.

"What are we gonna do, now?" Beth asked, huddled between Lori and Sophia. "Should we go back to the farm and see what happened?"

"We can't go back," Lori said, her voice soft and broken. "There's nothing left for us, there. Anyone who stayed behind is dead. Walkers will still be crawling all over it. We have to look for the others. Maybe if we find that highway again, they'll be there waiting for us."

"Maybe," Daryl agreed. "We gotta be cautious, though. Find some food, if we can. We don't know how long we're gonna be on our own."

Sophia looked up at the words. "Well, it's a good thing we're not on our own," she said firmly. "We got out together."

They got out together, him and his girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it, people! Except there's going to be a part two, which should be a whole lot better. It'll take place roughly a year after the end of this one, and this whole thing is really just to set up the universe I was going for in the second part. Which will be called "Angels of Atlas". Should be out pretty soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
